


Feast For Senses

by exmachinarium



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 13:47:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exmachinarium/pseuds/exmachinarium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“In other words, the meals you had before failed to grasp your attention.”</p>
<p>“You could put it that way. But food… Regular food, that is, doesn't seem… Attention-grasping in general.”</p>
<p>And so, a challenge and a chance for enlightenment appears; a familiar ground, but one that needs to be trodden lightly nevertheless.</p>
<p>“Not on an entirely conscious level, perhaps. However, there is some truth to the saying that a good dish ought to appeal to all our senses.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feast For Senses

**Author's Note:**

> From a drabble meme on tumblr; the prompt was 'finish'.

Will has just about emptied his plate when a scoff escapes his lips. At the opposite side of the table, doctor Lecter looks at him from above the rim of the wine glass. Not accusing, just curious. The offender risks a quick glance at the man, stopping just below the eye level, before going back to the empty plate.

"It's not about the food, it's… Great, as usual," Will clarifies, his sentence fragmented with abrupt stops (Hannibal thinks he can almost see the commas flowing free from between Graham's teeth), "I just don’t think I can remember actually finishing a meal before. Ever."

A soft, barely-there smile passes through Lecter's lips.

"It's a great compliment for me as a cook in that case. Thank you, Will," then, after a pause, "I do realise this is not a professional meeting, but could you think of possible reasons for that state of things?"

The scoff is there again, followed by a crooked smile, something of a tell-tale sign by now.

"Couldn't focus on the meal long enough, probably. Too much… Happening around," he waves distractedly, as if he tried to chase away unwanted stimuli which even now plague his peripheral vision. Hannibal takes another sip of his wine, before leaning towards his guest.

"In other words, the meals you had before failed to grasp your attention."

"You could put it that way. But food… Regular food, that is, doesn't seem… Attention-grasping in general."

And so, a challenge and a chance for enlightenment appears; a familiar ground, but one that needs to be trodden lightly nevertheless.

"Not on an entirely conscious level, perhaps. However, there is some truth to the saying that a good dish ought to appeal to all our senses."

"I believe a demonstration would be in order." With a small nod, Hannibal retreats to the kitchen and returns shortly with two plates of a dish Will fails to name but which he is sure he wouldn't be able to afford, in spite of Jack's staggering generosity as far as remuneration of his work goes. And while the food fails to grasp his full and undivided attention the moment it is placed in front of him, it certainly intrigues.

"Sight," declares Hannibal, reclaiming his seat, "is an obvious sense to appeal to, but by no means the only one. The scent, as you probably know, is strongly connected to the notion of taste. A biological inheritance from our ancestors, though nowadays it can be put to a better use than simply discerning between fresh and rotten or contaminated food. In a good meal, the scent itself becomes an invitation. A prelude to taste, if you prefer."

"That's… Very poetic," Will mutters. Doctor Lecter takes it as a sign to continue.

"Then comes the sense of touch; although in our culture it is not entirely common to experience it directly," as if for emphasis, he gracefully picks up his knife and fork. "But as we apply pressure," he pins down and slowly carves out a bite-sized portion, "we become aware of the tactile qualities of our meal. These ministrations have, in turn, a certain potential of eliciting sound… Or an illusion thereof."

"Finally," he says, raising the fork and examining the morsel intently, "all senses - sight, smell, sound and touch - compose a reprise mere seconds before one is able to experience the final sensation of taste."

Silence falls as Hannibal acts upon his words and takes a moment to relish in the sensual composition he dissected so meticulously for the benefit of his guest. A soft clink from the other side of the table heralds Will following in his footsteps.

Observing his careful, somewhat clumsy conduct, doctor Lecter can almost see beneath the skin and muscle, straight into the profiler's head, where all that has been said at the table is stored, assembled and remodelled to fill the gaps in the profilers mental representation of his host. And in spite of himself, perhaps, Hannibal wonders. About the inner workings of Will Graham's exceptional mind; about the hundred thousand mosaics of people, alive and dead, assembled piece by piece in the confines of this beautiful, dangerous machine. About the final place and shape he shall take in good Will's consciousness once his likeness is complete.

(If there's any consciousness left to speak of, that is.)


End file.
